She wanted to keep believing in him but sometimes it was hard when she couldn’t sleep because she was afraid—it got so dark—and she kept checking the candle, her finger to her mouth, to the wick, and then checking again for the slightest flicker or the baby cried and cried with a fervor that wouldn’t be doused by water, little in the cabinets or in her or sometimes the landlord would corner her, press himself against her still swollen belly and say maybe it was time they talked about the rent.
—First appeared in the late, great Ghoti
Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz lives somewhere in the United States. She blogs about her life at gwennotes.blogspot.com and about her writing life at wwwonewriter.blogspot.com.
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